


Scars

by labramazing



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Scars, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labramazing/pseuds/labramazing
Summary: Seven had scars.He had many of them, but you accepted them unapologetically without any questioning. You knew the answers you would have to pry from him would only open up more wounds, leaving more scars in their wake. Some were darker while others were lighter, some looked like they had come from deep wounds that had taken long to heal, some were part of larger, scattered, masses.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with depictions of self harm, violence, and abuse!  
> I love Seven (so much) but sometimes when I'm depressed I have to write him as depressed too. At least MC is giving him some good ol' love.

Seven had scars.

He had many of them, but you accepted them unapologetically without any questioning. You knew the answers you would have to pry from him would only open up more wounds, leaving more scars in their wake. Some were darker while others were lighter, some looked like they had come from deep wounds that had taken long to heal, some were part of larger, scattered, masses.

Often, after a hard day of work, or just a hard day being Seven, he would strip down to nothing but his boxers, lay under the masses of blankets, and not make a sound as he tapped away on his phone, or just stared blankly up at the ceiling. He would sit like this for hours if you let him, and sometimes you did, but there were times you would intervene, too. He would let you take control, still not saying much as you kissed everywhere, over every scar. Sometimes you would try to count but you would always lose track somewhere in the middle.

You started with the circular spots atop his shoulders. Most were faded now, but some were still more red than others. They were numerous, some making their way all the way down his arms to his fingers, and some inched down his back. They were almost easily mistaken for freckles. Almost.

_A young boy sat in the corner of a dark room, trembling. His wrist tied with a frayed piece of rope to the nearest piece of furniture, bloodied where the rope had left its mark as he struggled to get away. He was usually a fighter but there were times where he couldn’t take it anymore. How long had it been since he had last seen the outside world? Months? Days? Minutes? His head spun as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten, and his stomach tied itself in knots as he looked at his brother, his other half, in even worse condition stuck near the opposite wall. His mother towered over him, taking a long drag on her cigarette. The smell made him gag, but if he had thrown up it would have been nothing but bile. Of course, she wouldn’t just put it out just anywhere. She pressed the burning remains into the skin on his bare shoulders. This wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. He tried to cry but nothing came out._

You then made your way down to his chest, which was mostly bare save a few longer scars that stretched the whole length of it. You moved your hands up and down his body, feeling his muscles that were surprisingly prominent for someone who had never watched their diet. You pressed your lips to each scar carefully and gently. One. Two. Three.

_A teenager now, although he was forced to grow up fast, was collapsed in the middle of a group of people, most of them continuing their work around him but the largest man approaching with a scowl on his face. He trembled from his place on the floor, but he couldn’t make himself get up to run away. Was he dehydrated? Hungry? Tired? It didn’t matter, most of all he was terrified. Although he was good with computers, he didn’t expect physical training to be a part of his future, let alone anything as rigorous as this. A boot suddenly pressed his face to the ground, cracking the frame of his glasses and tugging on his red hair. The large figure never made a sound, but the weapon he had did. What was it again? A stick? A whip? Whatever it was left its mark. He wanted to cry out but knew he would be punished if he did, maybe even killed. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had been struck. He could handle it again, and again. He couldn’t risk the consequences if he didn’t, anyway._

His whole body squirmed as you pressed kisses to his thighs, over and over again. They were riddled with scars, some pink, some white, some barely healed while others were almost faded into nothing. Some felt raised under your lips, but others melted into the rest of his skin. You took your time here, pausing briefly now and again to look at the golden orbs staring down at you, not what to make of the expression you were getting in return.

_He was barely a few years older, but it felt like an eternity had passed. Nothing in his life brought him pleasure, only worry and self-doubt. He made up for all the times he couldn’t cry out, the times he couldn’t scream. His voice reverberated off of the walls of the empty house, filling the hollow space with an echo of sobs. His face was soaked in tears, or was it blood? Maybe it was both. It was definitely blood on his thighs, and on his hands now too. The razor blade that he had gotten from God knows where had been through this way too many times before, as had his legs, but he still hadn’t lost enough blood to stop living. He was too afraid of what would happen if he was gone, and yet he was too afraid of what would happen if he stayed. He was always afraid. The gashes on his thighs would help him focus on something else for once, even days later when they would rub up against the coarse fabric of his pants, leaving him sore with a constant reminder. He didn’t care. He was so afraid._

You moved back up to his shoulders to the scar unlike the rest. It was the only one you remembered, the one that you were there for. You didn’t have to ask about the story of this one. It was long, dark, and jagged, setting his shoulder apart from the rest of his body.

_The seven you knew now winced in pain. There were tears forming in his eyes, not that you could see them. You were so focused on getting away, as far away as possible. You felt uncomfortable with two people you barely knew in the car, one screaming curses and the other was knocked entirely unconscious. You watched Seven wince and tear up in agony as his conscious friend attempted to dress his wounds, but he was quiet. He tried so hard to be strong for you but you could tell he was falling apart. You thought back to the spray of bullets that had been heading towards your direction a short while ago, and the yelp you heard in pain. You were so glad that it wasn’t any worse, but so scared that it wasn’t any better. This time, you were afraid._

You paused, unconsciously, not even aware that Seven was watching you intently now. You brushed your fingers over that scar, that reminder, and he gave you a weak smile. You moved your face closer to his, and he left a wordless kiss on your lips. It was soft, and quick, which was very unlike him, and he was quiet still. His lips were free from any marks of previous pain and misfortune, only touched by your own with great adoration and affection. You wanted so badly to turn back time. If only you could make things better for him and heal him when he was suffering, or prevent it entirely in the first place. You would have never thought that one person could be alive after all that he went through, let alone be so strong in dealing with it.

Seven had scars.


End file.
